


to the moon (and back)

by ephemeralsky



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22293439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralsky/pseuds/ephemeralsky
Summary: A collection of ficlets and short one-shots, all featuring Neil, Andrew, some shenanigans, and lots of tenderness.(Chapter 7 update: A post-canon fic where the Foxes gather at Abby's place for Christmas. Some mishaps occur)
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 97
Kudos: 683





	1. learning to be gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew wants to try something new with Neil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/post/165818297388/andrew-wants-to-kiss-neil-correction-andrew) in 2017.

Andrew wants to kiss Neil.

Correction: Andrew wants to kiss Neil’s scarred cheeks.

It starts with Andrew coming to a realization.

While they were on the roof watching the last light of the day draining away, Andrew realized he felt calm. It was different from his usual kind of calm detachment, because he wasn’t distancing himself from anything. There was the purple hues in the gamut of the sky, the smudges of fading orange from the sun, the weight of Neil’s head on his shoulder, the warmth of Neil’s body leaning against his, and he felt – soft. At ease.

It made him angry.

He had shoved Neil away and left the roof. Neil kept his distance, allowing Andrew space without asking for any explanation. It made Andrew angrier.

Not unkindly, Bee told him, it’s because you’re unused to this.

Andrew didn’t tell her, there is no this. He told her, I want to try to be gentle. But I don’t think I am capable of it.

She told him, you are. She told him again, Andrew, you are.

Andrew has kissed other parts of Neil that aren’t his lips. His hipbone, his thighs, his navel. Neil has kissed other parts of Andrew too. His forearms, his chest, and of course, his neck. 

But Andrew has never kissed any other parts of Neil’s face, and he realizes that he wants to. He wants to press his lips to the pleats of knife scars on his right cheek, to the whorl of burn marks on his left cheek, to the tip of his freckled nose. He’s dug his teeth into the defined corner of Neil’s jaw, but he wants to kiss it too.

In the dorm room, when they are by themselves, Andrew tells Neil, I want to try something.

Putting his pencil down and closing his textbook, Neil tells Andrew, okay.

In the bedroom, Andrew says, I want to try something, but I need you to close your eyes.

Neil looks at him, then says, okay.

Andrew looks at him, then closes the space between them. The light from the bedside table skims off Neil’s eyelashes and splatters over his skin in gold.

Andrew asks, yes or no?

With his eyes closed, Neil says, yes.

Andrew tucks Neil’s hair behind an ear, leans forward with his chin tilted, and kisses Neil on his cheek. He feels the bob of muscle under his lips, but Neil keeps his eyes closed. Andrew strokes his thumb over the spot he just kissed, and thinks, yes.

He shifts a little and kisses the knot of pink skin on Neil’s other cheek. He does it once, twice, thrice. He does it again and again, each kiss softer than the last. 

He falls back flat on his feet. He didn’t realize that he was standing on his tiptoes.

He tells Neil, you can open your eyes.

Neil opens them, blinking slowly, eyelashes fluttering.

He asks, may I?

Andrew nods.

Neil raises his hands and cups Andrew’s face. The tips of his fingers glide into Andrew’s hair. The blueness of his eyes is annihilating.

He asks, may I?

Andrew says, yes.

Neil leans forward, and kisses Andrew on his forehead.

Eyes falling shut, Andrew exhales softly. 

He thinks, yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](http://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com).


	2. next stop: the train station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil teaches math and doesn't realize that there are two Minyards manning the counter at a train station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/post/179961798083/a-messy-thing-i-wrote-in-like-an-hour-because-i) on tumblr as part of the AFTG Bingo challenge in 2018.

Neil needs to get to work, and this line hasn’t moved for the past fifteen minutes.

It’s not often that he has to go to campus, because most of his classes are taught online.

Today, however, is special; he needs to physically be on campus for a faculty meeting. But he’s going to be fucking late because somebody is holding up the ticketing queue. He should’ve just gone for the ticket machines, in retrospect.

“Hey!” a man behind him yells. “What the hell is taking so long?”

A few other people shout their dissatisfaction and demand to know the same.

A slew of frantic sentences fly down the line. There is a buzz of murmured confusion among the people, and Neil sighs.

He pushes his way through the crowd to the front of the line. A tall, frustrated man is hunched over the ticket window, throwing a “Patience, please!” to the line of angry people behind him.

The problem is - he is speaking in Russian, and nobody can understand a lick of what he is saying. Nobody but Neil, anyway.

“Excuse me,” he says in Russian. “May I help you?”

The man stops rambling to the station agent behind the window and turns to Neil, eyes widening in surprise. Then his face breaks into relief and delight as he begins to explain that he needs to get to the museum but he wants a three-day pass that covers zones A to C, with a 1-day pass that covers only zone D.

Neil relays this information in English to an unruffled Minyard, who performs the transaction with brisk efficiency. It’s quite contradictory to his claims of _I do not care about this job_.

After the Russian man squeezes Neil in a hug, showers him with a rush of gratitude, and potters away with his oversized luggage, Minyard says, “So the professor speaks Russian.”

He’s in a good mood today, ‘good’ being a very loose term. For all Neil knows, he could be feeling unbridled joy under that veneer of perpetual indifference. Neil only thinks he’s in a good mood because he’s not ignoring Neil like he does on some days, acting like he isn’t aware of Neil’s existence.

“So he does,” Neil says, propping an elbow on the counter. “Get me my usual.”

“This is not a bar,” Minyard points out, “and you are jumping in front of the line.”

“Oh, it’s not? Could’ve fooled me, with all the noise and large crowds. And I just rescued you from an angry mob. You could thank me by giving me my ticket and letting me get on a train.”

Neil isn’t sure that Minyard would do it, but Minyard prints out a round-ticket and slides it through the hatch on the transparent window.

“Get out of my sight.”

Neil accepts the ticket and drops a few coins on the counter.

“See you around,” he says, tapping his fingers to his temple in a mocking salute. On his way to the platforms, he feels his lips flicking upwards in a small smile.

*

“Still hard at work, I see.”

Minyard, in his white button-up shirt and black armbands, levels him with a blank stare through the window. Neil himself is in office attire, but his tie had been stuffed into his messenger bag as soon as he got out of the meeting and his jacket is hanging off his elbow. He folds his arms on the counter, staring right back at Minyard.

“Do you ever go outside of your booth or are you surgically implanted in there?”

Instead of remaining in his seat and staring stonily at Neil like he usually does, Minyard gets to his feet. He exits the ticket kiosk and goes around to where Neil is standing.

“Do you ever keep your mouth shut or are you physically incapable of doing so?”

“Hmm, the latter.”

Minyard kicks the side of Neil’s foot. He’s even shorter than Neil, but he looks formidable enough, with his penetrating gaze and burly arms.

“Tell me, what time do you usually leave work?”

Neil sees Minyard swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and looks at a point above Neil’s shoulder.

“Why do you want to know?”

Neil shrugs. “Just curious. I saw you when I left this morning and I see you now when I come back. You must be pretty tired.”

“Seeing you always makes me tired.”

“You’re welcome,” Neil says without missing a beat.

“And what will you be doing after a long day at work?” Minyard asks, his voice as toneless as it always is.

“I’ll take a shower, eat something, play with my cat, check my emails to make sure I don’t have a student panicking about their grade in the middle of the night. Boring stuff.” Neil tilts his head to the side a little. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I leave when I want to.”

“Is that so.”

“Was there an emergency today.”

This makes Neil frown. “No. Why do you ask?”

“You only go to the university on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Minyard’s still not meeting Neil’s eyes, which is odd.

“I normally do. But there was a meeting this morning, with the new dean. It wasn’t anything too important, though.”

Minyard parts his lips to say something, but seems to have second thoughts when the station master strides up to them. Neil sees him sometimes - his name is Wymack, if Neil isn’t mistaken - when he’s out patrolling the platforms.

“Minyard. Would you like to tell me why you’re not in your booth?”

“No, I would not.”

Wymack exhales noisily through his mouth. “I don’t even know why I bother.” He glances at Neil, then back at Minyard. When he turns to Neil again, his eyes are scrutinizing. “Sir, can I help you with something?”

Neil doesn’t particularly like men who are old enough to be his father. Childhood trauma and all that. He backs away a little, putting on a faint, cordial smile. “Oh, no, not at all. I was about to leave, but I just wanted to say hi to Mr. Minyard here.”

“That so. Well, if he gives you any trouble, you let me know right away. I’ll set him straight.”

“That would be homophobic,” Minyard says blandly.

Neil’s eyebrows climb up to his hairline. Huh. He’d never noticed.

Minyard is finally looking at him now, watching him closely as if he is studying every shift in Neil’s expression.

“What is it?”

Minyard rakes his eyes over Neil from head to toe before he looks away again.

“Nothing.”

*

The next time he sees Minyard, he almost punches him right on his nose.

He’s always been hot-headed, but maturing into an adult has taught him some self-restraint and the ability to keep his temper on a short leash. But frankly speaking, he’s had quite enough of Minyard’s drastic personality swings. Coupled with the fact that he’d had a rotten day at work - well, it’s probably inevitable that he would snap.

He had said a simple hello to Minyard after he had passed through the turnstiles, but he had gotten a disgusted scowl in return.

“Oh, so I guess I’m not even worth a ‘hey there’, huh?”

Minyard’s scowl deepens. “What?”

“I mean, a little friendly ‘hi’ never killed anybody. I know that we’re only acquaintances, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like I don’t even exist just because you’re in a shitty mood.”

A couple of people steer away from the booth and scurry off to the next window. Minyard looks at Neil like he’s never even seen him before.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Neil takes a deep, long breath. His rage boils just underneath his skin, threatening to spill over. He wants to smash his fist through the window and into Minyard’s mouth. But he merely clenches his hand and grinds his teeth. It’s unfair of him, too, to take out his foul mood on another person.

“Nothing,” he bites out. “I’m talking about absolutely nothing.”

He turns and walks away.

*

When he buys his ticket the next Tuesday, he doesn’t even glance at Minyard. He slides his money over, but doesn’t get his ticket.

He fixes his gaze on the map pinned to the wall of the kiosk, the intersecting train and bus lines like some misshapen spider web.

“You are early today.”

“Just give me my ticket.”

“Discourteous as well. I would have thought that being punctual would help to mitigate that rude behavior of yours.”

“Funny how you think I’m the rude one.” He doesn’t give Minyard a chance to retort, continuing with, “Look, are you going to give me my ticket or not? I can go to a different window if you aren’t.”

He feels Minyard’s eyes boring into his face. When his ticket is given to him a few minutes later, he picks it up and leaves without another word.

His day soars by. He gives a lecture on Boolean algebra, holds two hours of office hours, and keys in his students’ homework grades. Next thing he knows, he’s on the commute heading home.

He manages to procure a seat near the doors. The carriage isn’t nearly as full as it would be during peak hours. The sceneries pass by him in a dizzy blur. The train conductor does his rounds, checking on the passengers’ tickets and metro cards.

“Hi, Neil.”

Neil looks up at a grinning Boyd.

“How’s it going? Taught anything cool today?”

“If you think binary numbers are cool, then yeah.” Neil flashes Boyd his ticket, and Boyd beeps it on his bulky ticket-machine-thing.

“That sounds pretty cool to me. You’re getting off at the next stop, right?”

Neil nods.

“Me too. I need to hop on to my next line. Got a few hours left before I can clock out.”

Neil nods again, staring out the windows as a voice filters through the speakers to announce the station. The train pulls to a stop and the doors open in a quiet _whoosh_. Boyd throws a goodbye at him as he climbs the staircase and exits the platforms.

Minyard is outside the ticket kiosk, hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his lips. The ground around him is littered with cigarette stubs and candy wrappers.

Neil would have walked past him if he didn’t reach out and snag the strap of Neil’s messenger bag. Neil stops, and Minyard steps in front of him, squashing his cigarette out beneath his shoe. He does nothing but stare into Neil’s eyes.

Neil is the one to break the silence, dropping a simple “What do you want?” into the small space between them.

Minyard doesn’t answer. His jaw ticks, his lips pressed together. If Neil doesn’t know any better, he would think that Minyard is nervous.

“Do you drink coffee,” is what he says, just when Neil decides that he’s waited long enough.

“I…do,” Neil says, confused. He’s not sure where this conversation is headed.

Impassively, Minyard says, “Do you want to get coffee together.”

Getting a master’s in Mathematics is probably easier than navigating whatever the fuck is going on right now.

“You’re asking me out on a date.”

Minyard’s silence is confirmation enough. Neil runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes for a moment; he’s lost on why Minyard would ask him this when he treats Neil like a bacteria on some days. 

“But you don’t even like me.”

Minyard narrows his eyes.

“You don’t,” Neil repeats, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sometimes you don’t even acknowledge my existence. So I don’t know why you think I would want to grab a drink with you.”

Minyard’s eyes flicker, a brief lapse in his cool persona. “It is a no, then.”

“It’s more of a ‘can you explain to me why you’re suddenly asking me out when you won’t even talk to me on some days?’ Is there an impersonator that I should know about? An identical twin, maybe?” Neil asks sarcastically.

Now it’s Minyard’s turn to close his eyes for a while.

“I do have one,” he tells Neil. “A twin, who also works here.”

Neil stares at him. “You’re joking.”

“Not really what I am known to do.”

Neil mulls this over for a while. There are a few notable differences between the Minyard that talks to him and the Minyard that doesn’t, now that he thinks about it. The armbands, the level of apathy, and - apparently - the interest in Neil.

Huh.

“So you like me, and your brother doesn’t. Okay. I guess it all makes sense now.”

“I never said anything about liking you.”

“How can you not like me?” Neil says with faux-innocence. “You want to go on a date with me, after all.”

Minyard kicks the side of Neil’s foot.

Neil feels a twitch on his lips, a giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach.

“So, Minyard, about what you asked just now -”

“Andrew.”

Neil blinks, then smiles. “Andrew,” he says, “ask me again.”

Andrew looks supremely unimpressed, but -

“Do you want to get coffee together.”

Neil hums, pretending to think about it.

“No,” he finally says, “I’d prefer it if we get dinner instead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of this! :)
> 
> My [tumblr](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com).


	3. you, me, and this (toppled) christmas tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet winter day where Neil doesn't exactly go for a morning run and the cats act like the menaces that they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [ here ](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/post/180986411273/this-is-my-gift-for-nightquills-who-asked-for) as part of the AFTG Winter 2018 Exchange.

Neil is forced to hightail it back to the house fifteen minutes into his morning run.

The foyer is still circulating with the draft of cold air that followed him in when King potters towards him. He shucks off his jacket and toes out of his sodden shoes, picking her up on his way to the kitchen and depositing her onto the counter. When Neil pops open a can of cat food, Sir comes hurtling into the kitchen, nearly careening into the wall. After feeding them, Neil loads the washing machine and starts the cycle. With that done, he slinks to the bedroom.

The curtains are still drawn. Andrew is still in bed, the duvet pulled up over half his face. He cracks an eye open when Neil crawls onto the mattress.

Andrew snakes an arm out from under the covers and combs his fingers through Neil’s hair, a little damp from the snow.

“It’s cold,” he says, voice laden with sleep.

Neil takes it as the order to go back to sleep as it is and slips under the covers, curling up against Andrew. The heat of him is alluring, like laying on a hearth during a blizzard.

Neil trails his eyes over Andrew’s face, and Andrew stares back. He sticks his arm under Neil’s pillow and closes his eyes. Through a crack in the curtains, Neil can see the falling snow, raining down like feathers.

Neil feels his own eyes drooping, and he doesn’t wake up until a couple of hours later, when the cats jump onto the bed.

Andrew is already staring at him, bleary-eyed and perpetually unimpressed.

Stretching out his limbs, Neil groans, low and pleased. Sir climbs up his chest, trotting onwards to his face in his daily attempt at suffocating the people who feed him.

Neil gathers Sir into his arms and sits up, scratching between the cat’s ears. “Good morning again, you little rascals.”

King is sitting like a loaf at the foot of the bed, paws and tail tucked underneath her body.

“Guess we’re snowed in today, huh?” Neil muses.

Andrew rolls onto his back. Hugging Sir to his chest, Neil leans over for a peck on Andrew’s forehead. “Shower?”

Andrew doesn’t answer, but he unwraps himself from the blankets and groggily makes his way to the bathroom.

After their shower, Neil makes breakfast while Andrew transfers their laundry to the dryer and checks the potted plants that they brought inside for the chilly weather.

From her perch up on the refrigerator, King watches as Neil makes French toast. Sir is probably tailing Andrew around and meowing plaintively for head scratches.

Almost tripping over Sir, Andrew enters the kitchen to pour them some coffee. He distracts Sir with his favorite toy, dangling it in the air as he sips his drink. He’s in his old college sweater, the one with fox paws on the sleeves. He likes to say that the only reason he wears it is because Neil keeps stealing his other sweaters.

They eat on the couch, the television playing a sappy Hallmark Christmas movie. Andrew sits with his back against a couch arm, bare feet shoved under Neil’s thighs. He refuses to wear socks at home and when he goes to sleep even though his feet are always cold. Neil, on the other hand, thinks that fuzzy socks are the best things in the world. Taking full advantage of this fact, Matt has made it his mission to gift Neil a pair of socks each Christmas.

Andrew wiggles his toes to get Neil’s attention. Neil turns to him, an eyebrow arched. He picks up one of the blueberries on his plate, waving it around, and Neil immediately parts his lips.

Andrew shoots the blueberry into his gaping mouth. A couple of rounds later, Neil says, through a mouthful of blueberries, “As much as I enjoy this, you should really eat more fruits.”

In response, Andrew licks the cream off his plate. Neil rolls his eyes and gives Andrew the last piece of his French toast. 

After rinsing the dishes and putting them in the washer, they return to the couch. Neil scrolls through the news app on his phone while Andrew stacks potato chips on Sir’s head.

“Hey,” Neil says, “look.”

He passes Andrew his phone to show the picture that Katelyn sent a few seconds ago. It’s of her twin daughters, dressed in the matching reindeer onesies that Neil sent through the mail.

Andrew tosses the phone back after a disinterested glance at the screen. Neil catches it easily, pressing his lips together to suppress a smile.

“I am surprised that my brother didn’t burn the outfits upon receiving them.”

“He’s grown soft,” Neil says, rubbing his palm over Andrew’s pudgy tummy, “like you.”

Andrew pinches his sock-clad toes, and he laughs.

After Andrew folds and puts away the laundry, Neil digs up a week’s worth of newspapers from the garage and divvy the puzzles between them. Neil is going through his third set of sudoku puzzle, his legs thrown across Andrew’s lap on the sofa, when their miniature Christmas tree crashes onto the floor.

Without looking up from his crossword, Andrew says, “That is the fourth time this week.”

Neil looks at where their two cats are nibbling on the fake pine needles. “Good thing we don’t care about the holidays, I guess.”

“Shame on you for supporting the war on Christmas,” Andrew says, dispassionate.

Neil twirls his pencil between his fingers, humming. “Always happy to propagate a war that doesn’t exist.”

At noon, their phones chime simultaneously with email notifications. The emails are routine messages they get every holiday from management, wishing them a happy Christmas and a good rest before they resume practices next week. 

Neil puts on the sports channel so he can watch a recap of the game between Dallas - Kevin and Thea’s team - and Jefferson City. In retaliation, Andrew changes the settings on the thermostat.

They eat cereal for lunch, and Nicky video-calls them just as they begin to flick Lucky Charms across the kitchen island, their salt and pepper shakers at the other end to serve as makeshift goals. It ends up as a three-way video conference when Allison, who is spending Christmas with Renee and Stephanie Walker but is currently stranded at an airport in Milan, calls them as well.

There is an exchange of ‘hot gossip’ and withering remarks between Nicky and Allison before they actually talk about anything else. After roughly an hour, Nicky ends the call on a shriek, Erik tackling him from behind, and Allison ends the call with a promise to drop by around New Year’s.

Andrew, who has been sitting beside Neil without saying a word, sighs in exhaustion. His eyes, though, are quietly warm and content.

Neil carefully removes Andrew’s glasses and wipes the lenses with the handkerchief he keeps in his pocket at all times, just for this purpose. After he slides it back on Andrew’s face, Andrew grabs his waist, swivelling him towards him on the barstool. There is an intense look in his eyes, one that is as familiar to Neil as the scars on the back of his hands.

“Kiss me,” Neil says.

Andrew kisses him, long and sweet. He buries his fingers in Andrew’s hair, lightly dragging his nails across his scalp. Andrew hasn’t shaved for the past few days, and Neil can feel his stubble tickling his chin.

It feels like second nature - his fingers in the fine-spun gold of Andrew’s hair, Andrew’s hot, insistent mouth against his own.

With a bite to Neil’s lower lip, Andrew draws back a little, face unaffected except for his flushed cheeks. Neil smiles at him, a little out of breath. “Your glasses have fogged up.”

Later in the afternoon, Neil makes gingerbread cookies while Andrew shovels the snow from Mr. Ong’s driveway next door. He’s decorating the gingerbread men with some frosting when Andrew trudges back into the kitchen, his nose and ears red from the harsh cold.

Neil wipes his hands on a dishcloth and cups Andrew’s face to warm it up a little, before handing him a mug of hot chocolate and kissing him on the nose as consolation. 

He swipes a finger over Neil’s cheek. It comes away with some frosting, and Andrew sucks it clean before scooping some more from the bowl and into his mouth. Neil would have let him get away with it if he didn’t hop onto the counter and filch one of the gumdrop candies that Neil is using for the cookie decorations.

He claps his hands to his cheeks, gasping theatrically. “Not the gumdrop buttons!”

Andrew casts him a stony stare as he steals more of the candies. “Quoting Shrek does not make you cute.”

Neil moves the bowl from out of his reach. “You should’ve considered the repercussions before we marathoned all the movies back in college.”

Andrew chucks a gumdrop at Neil’s head, and he expertly catches it between his teeth.

Towards sunset, they go out to the back porch, Neil draping a blanket over his and Andrew’s shoulders. Clumps of snow rest on top of the stoop and railings, like the sky unceremoniously dumped a bucket of it over their house. The cats charge out through the doors and onto the field of white blanketing their garden, leaving paw prints behind them.

Andrew and Neil sit on the porch swing, rocking back and forth slowly as the day dwindles to an end, Neil’s head on Andrew’s shoulder.

When Neil exhales, a cloud of air tumbles out of his mouth.

“Andrew.”

Andrew hums in acknowledgment, prompting Neil to say more.

“Nothing. I just wanted to say your name.”

Andrew links their hands together, stroking his thumb against the gold band around Neil’s ring finger. He tends to do that, when they’re holding hands.

“You are impossible.”

Neil kisses him on his scruffy jaw. “I know.”

They head back inside, the air still swelling with the scent of cookies. Andrew makes them some pasta for dinner, and then they migrate back to the couch so Neil can watch the evening news.

After the weather report, Neil suggests, “We should go out tomorrow.”

Andrew glances at him, then returns his attention back to his book. Neil takes it as an invitation to elaborate.

“They say it’ll be snowing again all night. We should go out in the morning for a walk. We can leave our footprints in the snow. And then we can build a snowman, or make snow angels.”

Andrew tilts his head towards Neil in consideration.

“Tell me why.”

“Ain’t nothing but a heartache.”

Andrew digs his nails into Neil’s kneecap, his ticklish spot.

“I’ll give you something in return,” Neil says, his leg lurching away from Andrew’s treacherous fingers.

“What will you give me?”

Neil feels himself smiling.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Andrew snaps his book shut. “He thinks he is so clever.”

Neil bats his eyelashes in an obnoxious manner. “You love it when I use your own words against you. You think it makes me more attractive.”

Andrew is completely unmoved. He’s stopped denying the depth of his feelings for Neil about a decade ago, anyway. “I am still waiting for a reason.”

“It’s nice, to leave our footprints where nobody has stepped on yet. It’s like proof that we were there - that we _are_ here, and that we’re alive.”

“Is there not enough proof of that already?”

“There is,” Neil says, which probably doesn’t help his case. But then again –

“You will make a carrot cake instead of a fruit cake for Christmas,” Andrew tells him.

– it never takes a lot for him to convince Andrew.

“With extra cream cheese frosting,” Neil promises. All those years of clumsily experimenting with various baking recipes and techniques when he was in college are really paying off.

Andrew takes off his glasses and folds them, placing them on top of his book on the coffee table. Before standing up, he twists a strand of Neil’s hair around his finger, gently tugging at it. Neil switches off the television and follows him to the bedroom.

King is snoozing by the heater in the hallway. Sir is curled up behind Neil on the bed. Neil and Andrew are tucked under the covers, asleep with their legs intertwined. Outside, snow continues to fall, pristinely, softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may or may not be read as a sequel to ['sugar, spice, and something nice'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313450) yee haw
> 
> My [tumblr ](http://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com).


	4. if you say a word three times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil deals with the memories of his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [ here ](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/post/183404191243/so-im-rereading-tkm-and-i-found-a-line-thats) on tumblr based on a prompt. 
> 
> CW: Past child abuse.

It starts, as some things in Neil’s life tend to do, with Andrew and the Maserati.

After a problem with the engine and a visit to the mechanic’s, Andrew’s decided that it would be best to invest in a new car instead of in the upkeep of the old one.

“A change is as good as a rest,” he says, echoing a distant memory of Neil’s.

“I don’t think that means what you think it means,” Neil replies, almost on reflex.

His mind has forgotten it, but his body hasn’t. The way it stills, preparing for a slap to the cheek, the sting that lasts the whole night, the automatic _I’m sorry, mom_ for the insolence, for the nascent backtalk, for doubting that it was time for an identity change.

 _Mom - mother - of course I’ll do whatever you say. Mother, of course I will_.

 _Mama_ , he used to call her.

 _Abram_ , she used to say. She used to say it all the time, until she didn’t. He used to hear it all the time, until he didn’t.

She wasn’t there to say it.

She used to always be there, next to him, and then she is always never there, next to him.

A part of him resents her for that; all that talk of never trusting anyone else but her, of never disobeying her every word and instruction, of never letting go of her hand as they wade through a crowd - and then she disappears.

She is the one to leave him, and a part of him hates himself for being the cause of it.

Good riddance, another part of him says. Good riddance, that part of him says, because if he says it enough, then maybe it will be true. If he says it enough, then maybe he doesn’t have to confront the grief, the sadness in him that sometimes feels so vast and unending that he feels there is no other way to escape it than to drown in it.

Good riddance, he doesn’t say. This way, he will preserve the good memories, and only the good. Keep them stored and locked away in a safe, take them out to look under a light and marvel at how they shine. The stuffed bunny for his third birthday, the Enid Blyton book for his seventh, the vanilla cupcake for his eleventh, the lullaby she sang as he slept in the passenger seat of a beaten up car, the stars and satellites smattered over the desert sky. This way, he will omit the bad memories, cleave them out and throw them into the incinerator, watch them burn and turn to ash. The bruised cheek, the broken rib, the bleeding lip, the clump of hair yanked from his scalp and slipping through her fist.

Good riddance, he says, very quietly.

 _Mama_ , he used to call her.

 _Abram_ , she used to say.

Only, he doesn’t remember the way she used to say it. Clandestine, desperate, angry - these things he remembers. Her voice, the enunciation, the pitch - these things he doesn’t.

There is an appropriate response to this tumult inside his head and inside his heart. He’s just not sure what it is yet.

They say that if you say a word three times, it becomes yours.

He says mama, mama, mama. He says remember, remember, remember. He says sorry, sorry, sorry.

Thirteen years sounds like a very long time. Thirteen out of thirty years is almost half of a person’s lifetime. Thirteen out of sixty years doesn’t sound as long, but Neil isn’t sixty. He is thirty, and he hasn’t seen his mother in thirteen years. He hasn’t heard her voice in thirteen years.

It is a blessing and a curse, he thinks, to be able to live this long.

She said don’t look back, don’t be anybody for too long, don’t trust other people. She said these things, but he doesn’t remember how she sounded like when she said them.

Is it morbid, he wonders, to want to remember how she sounded like as she was dying?

There is an appropriate response to this tumult inside his head and inside his heart. He’s just found out that it’s not up to him to decide what it is.

He can’t remember her voice. One day, it will be her face - the way she looked like when she was worried, when she was tired, when she was relieved.

It is a tragedy, he thinks, how bleak and painful his mother’s life was. And all he could give her was a pyre, her bones buried beneath coarse sand and washed over by the tide.

Somebody, he pleads, anybody - please remember her. Please don’t forget her.

Because one day, he will. One day, he will forget not only her voice, but her face and its many iterations as well. His memories of her will fade away, and she will disappear as if she had never existed at all, and it’s so unfair, and he’s so angry, angry, _angry_ -

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Andrew’s fingertips graze his cheek and come away wet.

When Andrew pulls him close, and then closer, he crumples to the ground, fingers twisted around the soft fabric of Andrew’s shirt.

The years he has been given to live, to grow, to be happy - they should have made him brave instead of helpless. He thinks they have made him both.

So he says Andrew, Andrew, Andrew, and holds on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](http://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com).


	5. the grand office debate of the century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil's co-workers argue over who this 'Andrew' figure in Neil's life is - is it his pet or his son?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/post/186199024513/written-in-concurrence-with-andreilweek-based-on) as part of Andreil Week 2019.

Husna’s rule to navigating her workplace relationships is simple: keep everyone at a polite distance. 

She congratulates Susan on her son’s kindergarten graduation, gives her condolences to Rajesh over the termination of his beloved television series, nods with mild interest at the manager’s grandiose description of his parakeet’s cage - all this while offering a succinct and business-like amount of information about her own personal life. 

It’s a straightforward, clean rule. 

That is, until Neil Josten moves into the office next to hers and stirs up curiosity by the buckets.

It starts, as a lot of office gossip are wont to do, with talks of his appearance. They whisper about how glorious it would be to be impaled by his sharp jawline (among other things), to be romanced by his muscled legs, and to be seduced by his mesmerizing blue eyes.

“He’s rather on the short side,” offers Husna respectfully. 

“So he’s travel-size,” replies Margaret from accounting. “Makes it all the more convenient.”

Wistful chatters about his chiseled cheekbones and sculpted thighs shift to deeper and more serious discussions when he mentions the unexpected: a morsel of an anecdote about his personal life.

Brian from marketing, who regards Neil’s private nature and blase attitude as a fun challenge rather than a deterrent, greets him good morning while they are both at the coffee machine. Neil gives a perfunctory nod in greeting and fixes himself a cup of coffee.

“How was your weekend?” asks Brian, leaning against the counter in what he thinks is a seductive pose.

“It was fine,” says Neil, with an air of general disinterest. “Andrew went with me to the beach for a run.”

And thus the grand debate begins.

“It’s his dog, obviously,” declares Rajesh of the terminated TV show. “Dogs like to run, right?”

“He doesn’t look like a dog person,” says Margaret from accounting skeptically.

“Maybe Andrew is his cat. Cats run too, don’t they?” inserts Susan the proud parent. “Or am I thinking of leopards?” 

“Gosh, I sure hope it’s not a cat,” grumbles Brian from marketing. “If he likes cats then I don’t think our relationship is going to work.”

“Why don’t you find out, Husna?” suggests Jia Qi from the front desk. “Your office is right next to his, right?” 

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” agrees Patrick from human resources. 

“While you’re at it, please see if he likes birds too,” requests the manager. 

“Of course,” says Husna graciously.

The next morning, she passes by Neil’s office and knocks on his door. He looks up from his computer and gazes expectantly at her. His office is impersonal, utilitarian. There aren’t any photos of a dog, or a bird. 

“Are you well?” she asks.

“I am,” answers Neil.

“How was your evening?”

“It was fine,” says Neil, a strange glow to his usually blank countenance. “Andrew laid on my lap and I stroked his head while we watched a movie. We fell asleep like that.”

“Oh,” remarks Husna, polite. “You and he must be very close.”

“I guess.” Neil shrugs, attention returning to the screen. “He usually doesn’t like to be touched. He left scratch marks on my friend’s arms, once.”

“Oh,” remarks Husna again. “I hope your friend was alright.”

“He was fine. It was his fault for not respecting Andrew’s boundary anyway.”

“Of course,” says Husna placidly. “You must be really fond of Andrew.”

Neil’s lips tilt upwards in the barest of smiles. “I suppose I am.” Then, wryly: “I’m not fond of him when he knocks over the vase I got as a house-warming gift, though.” He pauses, tapping a finger over the mouse. “Admittedly, it _is_ an ugly vase.”

Husna nods slowly. Owning a pet animal must be an edifying experience, for it to provide such fulfillment in Neil’s life. “I’ll leave you to your work, then.”

“It’s his cat, obviously,” declares Rajesh during lunch. “Cats are territorial, aren’t they? And they like to topple things over sometimes.”

“He certainly does look like a cat person,” muses Margaret from accounting.

“Well, that relationship was good while it lasted,” says Brian from marketing morosely, shoulders wilted.

“Why don’t you ask him more about his cat, Husna?” suggests Jia Qi from the front desk. “You seem to be able to carry a conversation with him, unlike the rest of us.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” agrees Patrick from human resources.

“Do you think he might be interested in seeing my parakeet?” wonders the manager, unwrapping his egg sandwich. 

“Perhaps,” says Husna, courteous.

The next morning, she locks her hatchback and passes by Neil’s expensive sports car just as he is getting out.

“Good morning,” says she.

“Good morning,” says he.

“Did you have a good evening?” 

Neil shoulders his messenger bag and locks the door. “We went for a drive.”

“You and Andrew?”

“Yeah. He likes it when we roll the windows down and blow through the freeway.”

“I see,” remarks Husna, polite. 

“Definitely a dog,” declares Rajesh during a clandestine meeting in the supply closet. “Dogs like to stick their head out the window when they ride in cars, right?”

“And we’re back in the game!” cheers Brian from marketing.

“It doesn’t make sense,” mutters Margaret from accounting.

“I agree,” chimes in the manager, fingers tented in front of his mouth. “It doesn’t make sense that he would have a cat or a dog, and not a bird.”

“May I say something?” asks Susan the proud parent. “I think… Andrew might be his child.”

Nobody says anything for a long time. It seems inappropriate to rebuff a mother’s intuitive conjecture. 

The next day, Husna passes by Neil’s office but stops short of knocking the door. He is on the phone, voice floating through the glass panels.

"Andrew won’t want to play unless you give him his favorite snack,” Neil is saying, tone teetering on irritation. “Skittles, yes, but only the purple ones. And no, get him a Snickers ice cream. He prefers that over Rocky Road.”

The discussion about Andrew’s difficult behavior goes on for a while. 

“I’ve already told you this before - you need to be patient. It’s key if you want to coax him into doing this,” says Neil, tone now crossing borders into the country of annoyance. “Yelling at him definitely won’t work. Just call me again if you need anything else.”

Later, during a coffee break, Husna says, “My apologies, but I overheard some parts of your conversation this morning. It sounded like you were having a rough time.”

“It’s really not that bad,” says Neil, taking a sip of his black coffee. “The trick to handling Andrew is to never assume and to never act like you’re entitled to his time and energy, but some people just don’t get that.”

“Still,” says Husna carefully, “it doesn’t sound so easy.”

“What’s not easy is when he won’t eat his fruits and drink enough water. He can be really picky with his food, but it’s hardly a real problem for me.”

Having a child must be really challenging, Husna concludes. But looking at the soft set of Neil’s eyes makes her think that it must be really rewarding too.

“How old do you think his kid is?” asks Jia Qi from the front desk.

“Fairly young, I’m sure. Neil himself doesn’t even look like he’s twenty-six yet,” says Margaret from accounting with conviction.

Susan the proud parent gasps, scandalized. “You don’t think he’s one of those people who had a child when they’re teenagers, do you?”

“I wouldn’t count it out,” says Brian from marketing with a wise nod. 

“The kid could have been adopted,” says the manager, rubbing his chin. “Just like I adopted my parakeet.”

“No ring though,” Rajesh notes smugly. 

“No ring,” everyone repeats in unison, hopeful once again.

“I think it’s admirable,” Husna tells Neil one day, after a company meeting that was not conducted in the confines of a janitorial supply closet, “how you manage your work and personal life so well.”

“I don’t think I could’ve done it without Andrew’s support,” says Neil, balancing a stack of files under an arm. His blue eyes, normally cool and sharp, are gentle with affection. “He’s really important to me, you know?”

Husna understands that being a parent, while difficult, must be very magical as well. She has no desire to have children of her own, but the image of a young loving single father and his son fills her heart with warmth. 

“Terrible news!” exclaims Jia Qi, bursting into the break room during lunch one day. “A terrifying man just came in and asked to see Neil. I told him he would need to make an appointment, but he wouldn’t listen and just barged into Neil’s office!”

Everybody makes a choked noise of shock and disbelief. Brian from marketing valiantly says, “Who is this man? Do I need to duel him for the sake of defending Neil’s honor?”

“He didn’t say who he was but it didn’t look like he’s here to have tea and play nice with Neil. Granted, he’s really short, but also really intimidating.”

“A loan shark,” says Margaret from accounting conspiratorially. 

“An old family enemy, sworn to vengeance,” adds Patrick from human resources.

“You guys watch entirely too many TV dramas,” says Rajesh of the terminated TV show.

“Husna,” urges the manager, “let’s go scout the situation.”

Husna walks briskly to Neil’s office, the rest of her colleagues tip-toeing in a neat line behind her. They wait at the end of the hallway while she raps her knuckles against the door. She refuses to sacrifice her courteousness for the sake of inquisitiveness. 

“Come in,” says Neil.

Husna comes in. The frightening man that Jia Qi mentioned might very well be short, but Husna wouldn’t know, since he is seated behind Neil’s desk, while Neil himself is perched on said desk. 

“Hey, Husna,” says he. 

The intruder, a blond man with an impassive face and impressive biceps, lowers the fork he was holding up towards Neil as if he had been feeding him. There are two cups of tea on the desk, and a container of food. Perhaps the man truly is here to have tea and play nice with Neil. 

“Oh, by the way, this is Andrew, my husband,” supplies Neil, gesturing to the man sitting in his chair. It effectively gets Husna’s thoughts to derail off track and careen sideways before plunging into a deep ravine. 

“He came by to give me my lunch,” continues Neil, incognizant of Husna’s plight. “I forgot to bring it with me this morning.”

“Right,” says Husna, unavailingly polite. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Andrew.”

Andrew. The human husband, not the pet cat, or the cherubic son. 

Andrew - an adult person who occasionally knocks things over, sleeps on Neil’s lap, and needs to be bribed with sweets - inclines his head in curt acknowledgment. 

Husna’s brain rearranges and glues together all the fragments of information it has previously acquired, needing some time to shut the coffin over any images of a domestic feline or kindergarten-aged child.

 _No ring though_ , she remembers suddenly. 

“A ring?” inquires Neil, making Husna realize that she had just spoken her thoughts out loud. 

Neil loosens his tie and undoes the topmost button of his crisp blue shirt. Around his neck is a thin silver chain, and he pulls it out from under his shirt to show the gold ring hooped at the end.

“You mean this ring?” he asks, an eyebrow raised. He looks decidedly amused. His husband, however, does not.

“Excuse me,” says Husna with utmost civility, hand grasping the doorknob, “but I think I have urgent news to deliver to our co-workers." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com).


	6. i don't mind being lonely (when my heart knows that you're lonely too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew has always imagined that living alone would be freeing, that it would mean safety and peace, because he would be sequestered away in a place where no one else could enter without his permission. 
> 
> But he finds that it isn’t quite so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/post/189750049603/hi-i-dont-know-if-youre-doing-prompts-or-not) based on a prompt by thelonlierversionofyou.
> 
> CW: Character sickness with detailed descriptions of the sickness (e.g. fever)

Living alone has been a steep learning curve. 

Andrew has never had his own place, and he has never lived alone. Being shunted from one foster home to another, being thrown into a juvenile center, being delivered to his birth mother’s apartment door like he was a lost package, being taken under Nicky’s wing, being stuffed into a dorm room for five years – he has never had the experience of living in his own space, of having his own name on the lease. 

Living alone meant he had to learn a lot of things. 

He had to learn how to activate the electric services, how to set up recurring payments for his internet and phone bills, and how to best pay his rent without having to interact with his landlord any more than he needs to. He also had to learn how to unclog the toilet and to stock up on insecticide lest he wants to have a spider for a roommate. Next year, he probably has to learn how to do his taxes. 

Having Nicky be in charge of all the tedious business and living on campus on a scholarship stipend in college meant he had never needed to spare a thought about any of this. 

Andrew is jaded, world-weary; he has gone through a whole spectrum of dark, brutal experiences and is hardly fazed by anything. 

But graduating college, living in the outside world, leaving the structure that he had built for himself - it has questioned this sense of equanimity. 

Bearing all those vapid responsibilities is one thing, but bearing the silence is another. It perturbs him, how sleeping alone in his apartment at night can be stifling and restrictive, like a bag tied over his head. 

He has always imagined that living alone would be freeing, that it would mean safety and peace, because he would be sequestered away in a place where no one else could enter without his permission. But he finds that it isn’t quite so. 

He finds that he misses the inane chattering during meals, the obnoxious bickering in the car, the slurred speeches under the pulsing lights at Eden’s Twilight. He even misses the messy bathroom counters and the sock-strewn floors and the overstuffed cupboards and fridge. 

He is not accustomed to not having someone to annoy by throwing limp vegetables onto the floor, or to not having someone to relegate the dishwashing and toilet-scrubbing to. 

He is not accustomed to not having his family within his immediate vicinity. 

He has grown complacent over the years, deriving a sense of security from having them close and putting them under his constant watch. But then Kevin graduated and signed with a team in Texas, and not long after that, he, Aaron, and Nicky graduated and went their separate ways to pursue their respective dreams. 

And then he was forced to leave Neil behind.

Andrew doesn’t have a dream or a goal to pursue. He would have been fine spending the rest of his life chasing shots and smoking cigarettes and driving aimlessly. He doesn’t know how that all changed. He knows _when_ it changed, though. That, at least, he knows.

Somehow, he has a job that pays him a handsome fee for simply swinging a racquet around. Somehow, his brother is still talking to him, even though he had predicted that any ties between them would have been severed like scissors to a thread after graduation. Somehow, he has not self-destructed and driven himself to the ground. 

So now he has to learn how to live alone, under the roof of his one-bedroom apartment, in a metropolitan city that accumulates 40 inches of snow in winter, miles and miles away from everyone he knows. 

Living alone has been lonely.

Andrew has never thought that he would experience loneliness, that he would come to know the meaning of the word so intimately. The separation from his family is difficult; a dull, throbbing pain at the back of his head. But the separation from Neil is sharper; a gashing stab wound in his chest, and he is bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. 

_This might be what loneliness feels like_ , he thinks blankly, staring up at the ceiling on the nights he can’t sleep. 

He is not accustomed to not having Neil’s weight on the mattress beside him, to not waking up with his hand over Neil’s hipbone and Neil’s nose nearly brushing against his. He is not accustomed to grasping nothing instead of the soft, worn fabric of Neil’s sweater when he reaches out in the middle of the night, his other arm curled underneath Neil’s pillow.

Text messages and phone calls can only do so much. They do not soothe the ache that has taken root within his heart, penetrating deep into his cells like an organism of its own. 

The worst part is knowing that this is going to be an immutable situation for a couple of years to come. They are apart now because Neil has to finish his last year of college, but it is very unlikely that he will play for Andrew’s team after he graduates. He will be scouted by multiple teams that will be scattered from around the country, and he will sign a contract with one of them, and then it will be a continuation of this: the distance, the loneliness, the long, long nights spent wishing that it would all stop.

When has he become so pitiful and weak? 

This is the question that plays on loop in his cottony head as he shivers through the symptoms of a fever. 

He hasn’t had one in a while. In the past, he powered through his sickness because he didn’t want to trouble his caretakers. And then he learned that powering through his sickness is the safest alternative, because being bound to the bed when his defenses were lowered was much, much worse than wandering outside with a pounding head and a running nose. 

When he was sick from withdrawal, he held off the nausea for as long as he could through sheer willpower. But by the time he retched and spewed his guts out, his nerves and bones - screaming at him - would win out and he would swallow more pills down his raw and arid throat. He would be manic, but at least wouldn’t be weak. 

When he lived with Nicky and Aaron, he could afford to stay cocooned in bed when he got sick, but he found out that it didn’t feel that safe either. His mind, fractured by a high fever, would run askew and leave him panting and frazzled. 

A creak in the floorboards was like the deafening crack of lightning and the screech of car tires was like a distant echo from a deep, deep well. His body would be wracked with shivers, like ice cubes slithering over his skin, but the layers of blankets only made him colder. His joints would be twinging with bursts of pain, aching and heaving like his lungs. He would screw his eyes shut but he would still see images flashing before him, fever dreams manifested into fractals of vibrant colors and distorted shapes. 

It is how he is now, quivering beneath the covers, curled up on his queen-sized bed, under the roof of his one-bedroom apartment, miles and miles away from everyone he knows.

His head is heavy, swirling and splintering. He cracks an eye open, feels the crustiness weighing on his eyelid. The slit between the curtains tells him it is daytime, and that it is snowing. 

He can’t believe it’s still snowing. It already snowed yesterday. He thinks it was yesterday. It might have been this morning, but he isn’t sure how long he’s been in bed, drifting in and out of a fitful, uneasy sleep. 

His breath wheezes out of his lungs as he snakes an aching arm out towards the bedside table. He slaps around for his phone, but his palm only hits air. His arm starts to feel cold, so he slips it back under the covers, tucking it against his chest. The movements have left him exhausted - more exhausted than he already was. The honking of cars on the streets below scratches against his ears, almost as loud as the dripping faucet from the bathroom sink. 

It is the sound that accompanies him as he plunges back into restless slumber. 

He dreams. 

They’re mostly memories, disjointed moments rolled into an illogical sequence, faraway voices and blurred faces floating in and out of his mind. 

Aaron grumbling about something as he eats his cereal. Nicky singing off-key to a pop song as he cooks dinner. Kevin tapping his racquet against Dan’s as they head out to the court. Wymack grousing about a migraine after a disastrous post-game interview. Bee smiling when she unwraps the Christmas present Andrew got her last year. Renee helping him get to his feet after she knocked him onto the training mat. Neil holding his hand and saying _only you_.

Neil fluttering his eyes open in the morning and nuzzling closer, sighing against Andrew’s collarbones. Neil pressing his ankle against Andrew’s under the table at Sweetie’s, his smile curled around a spoonful of ice cream. Neil cupping Andrew’s face, thumbs stroking across the skin underneath his eyes, whispering _I’ll miss you_ , the words soft and muffled as if he is hearing them through water. 

They’re good dreams, a part of him acknowledges. Much more preferable than all the nightmares and strange hallucinations he has ever had. 

There’s a cacophony of noises, blooming at sporadic intervals like firecrackers, but the pleasant dreams continue. Neil gazing at him in that peculiar way of his, as if he can see right through Andrew’s armor, as if Andrew hung the stars and rocked the oceans, as if Andrew is the most important thing in the world. 

Andrew thinks that might be how he looks at Neil. He thinks about it, in the lonely moments and strung out days, about Neil being the first thing he thinks of in the morning and the last thing he thinks of before he falls asleep. He thinks about being the moon, orbiting around Neil until the end of time, and then for longer. He thinks about burrowing between the bones of Neil’s ribcage so he could stay with him until his heart stops beating. 

When has he become so pitiful and weak? When has he come to want so much? 

He wants to listen to Nicky nattering away from the screen of his laptop, he wants to read Aaron’s existential texts regarding his choice to enroll in medical school, he wants to ignore Kevin’s rants about his poor form, he wants to send Bee animal figurines every year for her birthday, he wants to throw darts with Renee when they go to a bar, he wants to visit Wymack and Abby for Thanksgiving, and he wants Neil to be with him because he has never felt lonely when he’s with Neil.

Something cool and damp lands on his forehead, and it instantly makes him feel better. The images playing across his mind like a hiccuping film reel continues, flares of starlight and kaleidoscopic colors. In the midst of it all - Neil. Neil, with his unnerving blue eyes and careful touches, swerving in and out of Andrew’s vision like he is engulfed by ocean tides. 

_Stay_ , Andrew remembers telling him, once upon a time. 

_I’m not going anywhere_ , Andrew hears Neil saying.

Neil kept his promise. It is Andrew who went somewhere, who left him behind and went to a faraway place. 

Neil would say it’s okay. He would say it’s fine, because that’s what he always says. He would say it even if he misses Andrew, even if Andrew misses him. 

And he does.

He misses Neil, and he feels lonely without Neil. The loneliness hurts like a knife through his chest, and all he can do to stop the bleeding is dream of the times when he wasn’t alone, when he was with his family, when he was with Neil.

Something gentle cards through his sweaty hair, the motion repetitive and mindless like the assurances murmured to a sobbing child. It instantly makes him feel better. 

When he reaches out in the middle of his fragmented sleep, he grasps something soft and worn. 

The next time he cracks an eye open, it has stopped snowing. It is still daytime, but Andrew isn’t sure how much time has actually passed between now and when he became bed-ridden. His breath still wheezes out of him like a compressed rubber doll, but at least he can breathe through his nose, albeit with a little difficulty. His body doesn’t feel like it’s been shoved in a freezer, and his head doesn’t feel like it’s been run over by a steamroller.

With great effort, he levers himself into a sitting position. His neck and shoulders hurt, but it might have been because of how he was laying down. His fever seems to have subsided. 

He spends a few minutes sitting and staring at the sheets, trying to marshall his strength and wits. 

His phone is on the bedside table. There is some cough medicine and a bottle of water next to the phone, along with some painkillers. He doesn’t remember putting them there. 

A clang reverberates through the apartment. Pulling on his armbands, Andrew forces himself out of bed, padding quietly towards the door.

As he treads down the hall, he hears a slew of frustrated muttering. His breath catches in his throat; he knows that voice, knows it better than he knows his own. 

He turns the corner and sees Neil standing over his stove, cleaning up a spill. 

“Neil,” he rasps out, voice hoarse and thin. 

But it’s enough to get Neil’s attention. He whips around towards him, rag in hand. 

“Andrew,” he breathes out, expression breaking out in a small smile. He moves closer, standing right in front of Andrew. 

Andrew swallows. He doesn’t quite know how to react, so he stares and remains silent. 

Neil raises his hand, reaching towards Andrew’s face. He stops short of touching Andrew, quickly dropping his hand.

“Sorry,” he says, “my hands are dirty.” He leans forward, lightly bumping his forehead against Andrew’s.

Andrew feels like a stone has lodged itself in his airway.

“Your fever’s gone,” Neil says quietly, staring into Andrew’s eyes. “How are you feeling?” 

“What are you doing here,” Andrew says instead of answering. 

“I’m here to see you,” Neil says easily, like the answer was obvious. Andrew can feel the flutter of Neil’s eyelashes, tickling his face like dandelion seeds. “It’s winter break. I bumped up my flight a couple of days earlier, and I’m glad I did, since I came in to find you running a 39.5-degree fever.”

Andrew feels a tiny frown knitting itself between his eyebrows. 

“That’s 103 degrees in Farenheit,” Neil supplies, as if that matters at all.

Drawing himself back a little, Andrew studies Neil - his hair, his eyes, his mouth, his PSU sweater, his socked feet. He pulls his gaze back up to Neil’s face, watches the way he tilts his head to the side, the way the crinkle of his brow gives away his concern. 

“Andrew?”

Andrew’s fingers twitch; he clenches them into a fist, then unclenches them. He brings a hand up to Neil’s face, fingertips gingerly brushing against the burn scar under Neil’s eye, palm cradling his cheek. 

“I thought I dreamt you,” Andrew murmurs.

Neil turns towards his palm, pressing a kiss to his wrist. 

There is a shade of warmth in Neil’s eyes, a hint of mirth in his voice when he says, “I’m not a hallucination.”

Andrew grabs the collar of Neil’s sweater with his free hand, fingers knotted around the soft, worn fabric. Loneliness eludes him. 

Quietly, like a confession, he says, “You are a pipe dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought it would be appropriate(?) to post this sick!fic during this time of upheaval. i hope everyone is well, despite the circumstances.
> 
> My [tumblr](http://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com).


	7. merry crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil throws away the candy wrappers and takes a seat. “What’s up, Coach?”
> 
> Wymack pinches the bridge of his nose. “My blood pressure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/post/189657701228/this-is-my-gift-for-sinilumi-as-part-of-the) as part of the AFTG Winter 2019 exchange.
> 
> CW: a mention of a panic attacks.  
> I don’t think there’s anything else that's triggering in the fic, but if you’d like me to add other warnings, please let me know!

The flight from Denver to Palmetto has left Andrew a little cranky. His unchanging expression doesn’t give anything away, but Neil can tell from the tense line of his shoulders and the occasional twitch of his right eye that his patience is wearing thin.

Travelling during the holidays has never been easy, but the volume of people at both the airports in Denver and Palmetto and the heavy traffic on the way to Abby’s house have been extremely trying. Andrew still doesn’t like flying, Neil still doesn’t like airports, and they both still don’t like big, loud crowds. At least it’s a little warmer here in South Carolina, and the rental they picked up at the airport is sleek and ostentatious, just the way Andrew likes his cars. 

Neil switches the radio on for the news, but turns the dial all the way back down when he realizes that all they’re playing are Christmas songs. Leaning back against the leather seat, he focuses instead on the scenery that slowly passes by as they crawl through traffic. 

It’s late in the afternoon when they get to Abby’s house. Andrew rolls his window down and kills the engine; Neil lights up a cigarette and passes it over to him. He waits until Andrew is finished with the cigarette before sliding out of the car and going around to Andrew’s side. He folds his arms against the lip of the window, watching Andrew watch the steering wheel. 

“You ready?”

“Are you?” Andrew returns.

Shaking his head a little, Neil leans through the window and presses a quick kiss to Andrew’s temple. “I’ll get the presents.”

Abby answers the door. She smiles broadly at them, ushering them inside. 

“Can this old lady ask for a hug?” she asks Neil after they step into the hallway.

Neil flashes her a half-smile, welcoming her embrace. He seldom engages in physical displays of affection unless it’s with Andrew, but he’s missed Abby, and she has always been kind to him. Besides, with the rest of the Foxes arriving soon, he’s going to get re-accustomed to a lot of hugging. 

“Betsy says she’ll drive up as soon as her casserole is done. Kevin and Thea are already here,” Abby says. “David’s in the kitchen with no one to supervise him, so I better get back. You boys help yourselves to whatever you need - you know where everything is.” 

“Ah, fuck,” Wymack’s voice says emphatically from the kitchen. 

Abby gives them a pointed look, as if to say, ‘ _see what I mean?'_

Neil stifles a smile, carrying the duffel bag with all the presents to the living room after hanging his coat up in the closet. Andrew follows Abby to the kitchen; he’s either looking for food or looking to bother Wymack. 

Kevin is on the couch, scrolling through his phone with his eyebrows furrowed. He looks up when Neil enters. “Have you seen the news about Williams?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Kevin,” Neil says dryly. Kneeling by the tree, he unzips the duffel bag and begins unloading the presents. 

“The Cardinals are firing him. The allegations about his addiction were proven to be true.”

“And I should care about this because?”

“Because,” Kevin says waspishly, “it is important to stay informed.”

“And I agree with that,” Neil says magnanimously. “But I’m also incapable of giving a fuck about what other Exy players do in their private time, so.”

Kevin sucks in a deep breath, half-raising from the couch to unleash a spiel, but he is interrupted by Thea’s appearance.

“Hey, Thea,” Neil greets.

“Hi,” Thea says, her hair unbraided. She shuffles to the couch, plopping onto the cushions with a great sigh. 

“Why aren’t you resting?” Kevin asks, hovering over her with a giant frown on his face.

“I accidentally fell asleep and when I woke up, I felt awful. So now I’m here, hoping my husband would kindly get me a glass of water and something to munch on.”

“On it,” Kevin says, dashing to the kitchen.

Neil quirks an eyebrow at Thea. She shrugs, folding her hands over the prominent swell of her belly. “He needs something to occupy him at all times. Otherwise, he’ll just hover.”

“Smart,” Neil remarks. He gets to his feet, dumping the empty duffel bag against the wall. “Want some toffee?”

Thea holds her palm out, and Neil fishes a few toffee candies from his pocket and gives them to her. Andrew won’t mind that Neil is sharing them. Probably. 

“You really know how to deal with a pregnant lady, huh?” Thea says, wry. She eats two toffees at once, and Neil takes the wrappers from her.

“Not really. But I think that being pregnant automatically means that you deserve all the candies and sweets that you want.”

Thea shifts a little, grunting as she tries to get comfortable. “I wish being pregnant also means you automatically feel numb to pain. My back and legs are killing me. And I can’t drink or have sex. And the worst part is?” She exhales a sharp breath and mutters, “I can’t play Exy.” 

Thea isn’t as absorbed in Exy as Kevin is, but she did spend a few years in the Nest, and she has built an illustrious career as an Exy player, so it shouldn’t be surprising to hear that she’s disgruntled about not being able to play for close to a year. 

“Absolutely not!” shouts Kevin, his voice travelling all the way from the kitchen. “Why would you do that!”

Thea looks over towards the direction of the kitchen, then back at Neil. “I’m guessing that Andrew is in the kitchen right now.”

“I better check on them and make sure Kevin hasn’t busted a ventricle.” 

“Can you turn down the temperature? And open up a window?” Thea says. “It feels hot and stuffy in here.”

Neil does as she requested. Upon entering the kitchen, he finds Kevin holding a box of donut holes over his head, his other hand extended in front of him and grasping a spoon as if to fend Andrew off. Andrew himself is standing a few paces away, staring blankly at Kevin. Abby is stirring a pot on the stove, completely unfazed. Wymack is sitting at the table, completely fed up. 

Neil throws away the candy wrappers and takes a seat. “What’s up, Coach?”

Wymack pinches the bridge of his nose. “My blood pressure.” 

“Splendid,” Neil says without missing a beat. He takes stock of the peeler in Wymack’s hand and the bowl of potatoes on the table. “Need any help?”

Wymack stares at him squarely in the eye and points at Kevin and Andrew. “Get those two goons out of the kitchen.”

Neil’s lips twitch. “Yes, Coach.”

“Hey,” Neil says as he comes up to Andrew. He hooks two fingers in the pocket of Andrew’s coat, tugging at it a little. “Come on, you can torment him later. You haven’t even taken off your coat yet.”

Before leaving with Neil, Andrew points two fingers to his own eyes, then one finger to Kevin’s face, a warning that this - whatever this is - isn’t over. Kevin clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring. 

“You better get back to Thea, Kevin,” Neil reminds him. 

“Oh, shit,” Kevin says, frantically opening the cabinets. 

After taking off his coat, Andrew commandeers the armchair in the living room and switches the television on. Neil remembers to check his phone, finally turning flight mode off. His phone instantly vibrates with an influx of notifications. As if to punish him further, it buzzes with an incoming call. 

“Yeah?” he says, after swiping the answer button and holding the phone up to his ear.

“Finally,” Allison huffs. “I was starting to think you got kidnapped again.”

“Too soon,” Neil hears Renee say softly. 

“It’s been 10 years,” Allison points out. 

“Very funny,” Neil deadpans. “What’s up?”

“We’re at the supermarket - got a cab from the airport - and we wanted to know what you guys want for dessert.”

“Hold on.” Neil lowers the phone a little and asks Thea if she wants anything. 

“Everything they can get their hands on,” she answers without looking away from the television screen. Kevin, having just returned from the kitchen with Thea’s earlier requests, cringes. 

“Got that?” Neil asks Allison. 

“Loud and clear. What about your boy toy?”

Neil rolls his eyes, but looks at Andrew in question. “Andrew?”

“Chocolate mousse mocha fudge cake,” Andrew says without a second’s thought.

Thea nods in agreement. 

“Decadent,” Allison comments, “but not completely distasteful, I guess. What about you, hotshot?”

“I’m good. Let me check if Coach or Abby wants anything.” 

Abby asks them to buy some cocoa and Wymack asks them to buy lots of liquor. Allison hangs up after promising to arrive before dinner, and Neil releases a quiet breath through his mouth. Just as he perches on the arm of the chair Andrew is on, the doorbell rings. 

“Kevin,” he says, “get the door.”

“Why do _I_ -”

“This is Abby’s house and she’s basically your mom. Get the door.”

Kevin gives Neil the stink eye and stomps to the door, muttering, “Just because I called her ‘mom’ _one_ time -” 

Matt's and Dan’s voices pour into the house. Neil recognizes Katelyn’s voice too among the noise, and he shares a look with Andrew. 

“Your brother’s here early.”

“My heart sings with joy,” Andrew says emotionlessly. 

“Neil!” Matt shouts, practically squealing, as he materializes in the living room, arms spread open. “Come give me a hug.” 

Neil smiles exasperatedly. He gets to his feet and lets Matt envelop him in a bone-crushing hug. 

“I’ve missed you!”

“It’s good to see you,” Neil replies, patting Matt on the back as best as he can with his arms pinned to his sides. 

“You’ve had your fill,” Dan says from the side. “Now it’s my turn to give Neil some lovin’.”

Matt gives Neil a final enthusiastic squeeze before complying. 

“Hey, Dan.” 

Dan beams, radiant. “Come here.” 

Neil gives her a turn in trying to wring all the oxygen out of him. 

“Mommy,” a small voice says. Dan releases Neil and looks down at her leg. Damian - a little over 2 years old now, Neil thinks absently - is clutching her jeans, thumb in his mouth. 

Dan bends down to pick him up, balancing him against her hip. It’s amazing how she makes hefting a toddler look so easy. “Say hi to Neil.”

Shyly, Damian hides his face against Dan’s neck. “Hi,” he says, muffled. 

“Hello, Damian,” Neil says with a politeness he reserves exclusively for children. 

“‘Sup,” Dan says, looking at Andrew. Andrew glances at her in acknowledgement. She seems satisfied with it, going around the room to greet everybody else. Wymack and Abby have migrated to the living room to join in on the welcoming spree.

Aaron tumbles into the living room with a huff, his daughter attempting to steal his glasses and wriggling in his arms. Katelyn is right behind him, carrying their other daughter, who is holding onto a small toy dog. She smiles when she spots Neil. 

“Hello, hello,” she says. 

“How was the drive?” 

Kately sighs, feigning disappointment. “Uneventful. But we stopped twice at a gas station for a diaper change, so I guess there’s that.”

“Traffic was awful,” Aaron chimes in, scowling. “It took forever just to get from downtown to here.”

He’s not really talking to Neil, because he’s looking at the wall, but Neil is used to it. Aaron nods at Andrew, and Andrew nods at him, and no blood is spilled. A by-product of maturity and therapy, Neil muses. Aaron’s parenthood probably helps too.

Rebecca - at least, Neil thinks it’s Rebecca - releases a peal of laughter when she manages to snatch Aaron’s glasses off his face. She’s trying to chew on them when she notices Andrew. Dropping the glasses onto the floor, she twists in Aaron’s arms and stretches her hands out towards Andrew. 

“You want Uncle Andrew?” Katelyn cooes. To Aaron, she says, “Go on. Pass her over.”

“Uh, I mean -” Aaron’s eyes flit from Katelyn to Andrew - “if you want to?”

Katelyn looks at Andrew with an eyebrow arched. She’s stopped being scared of him after she and Aaron got married and she realized that he won’t ever hurt her unless she gives him a reason to. Neil finds her boldness distantly amusing. 

Without moving from his seat, Andrew takes Rebecca from Aaron, holding her up under her armpits. Impassively, he stares at her face for a few seconds before he adjusts his hold and settles her on his lap. She rests against his stomach, grabbing his sweater and flapping her other hand around as she babbles in nonsensical baby-speak. 

Neil feels himself smiling at the sight.

“Wanna hold Maddy?” Katelyn offers him. 

“Um, sure.” Gingerly, he cradles Madeline in his left arm. She brandishes her toy dog, nearly whacking it against his nose. 

“Is everybody here?” Katelyn asks, glancing around.

Neil shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Come on,” Katelyn says, pulling Aaron’s fingers, “let’s go say hi.”

Aaron picks his glasses up and makes a noise of bereavement, but lets himself be dragged around the room. 

“I can barely tell them apart,” Neil mumbles in Russian, studying Madeline’s blue eyes and the wisps of blond hair peeking out from underneath her woolen cap. 

“Lucky you are not their parent, then,” Andrew replies, bouncing his leg. Rebecca breaks out into shrieks of delight.

“You can say that again.” Neil wrinkles his nose and brushes it against Madeline’s. She giggles, pushing his face away with sticky fingers. Babies are alright, he supposes, but he could make do without all the stickiness. 

In the middle of the room, Damian bursts into tears and wails at the top of his lungs. 

Neil could also make do without all the emotional breakdowns.

Matt rushes to pick his son up, comforting him and rubbing the back of his head. He must’ve tripped and bumped his head somehow. 

“He’s a little moody right now because he didn’t sleep on the plane,” Dan explains.

“I’ll bring him upstairs and try to get him to nap,” Matt says.

“No naps,” Damian says between sobs.

“I’ll take out the futon,” Abby says, heading upstairs with Matt on her heels.

Kevin wanders closer to Neil and Andrew, expression morose and lips flattened. 

“That’s your life for the next 10 years,” Neil says helpfully. “And then it’ll be a few good years of teenage angst.”

Kevin groans, face scrunching up like he’s constipated. “Don’t remind me. I have basically been having a panic attack about it almost every week since Thea got pregnant.”

Neil decides to take some pity on him. “Hey, it’ll be fine. I know you’ve been inhaling a bunch of childcare books.”

“Books are completely different than real life, though.”

“Yeah, no shit.” 

“You really shouldn’t use that word in front of children,” Kevin reprimands.

Neil moves Madeline over to his other arm and continues speaking like he hadn’t heard Kevin. “And you’ll have Thea with you.” He pauses, then shrugs. “You’ll have us, too, if you ever need our help. We’re not child experts, but we can learn.”

“I -” Kevin wrings his hands, nodding sharply. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Neil sees Dan helping Thea get to her feet. Kevin notices too, and he quickly goes over to Thea’s side. 

“Where are you going? Do you need me to come with you?”

“No,” Thea says, a hand on her hip as she waddles down the hall. She is visibly sweating and her breathing is a little ragged. “I just need to piss. And I need some ibuprofen, probably. The cramps are getting worse.”

“I’ll grab them for you,” Kevin says.

In the living room, Katelyn and Aaron exchange a look. Even Dan looks a little skeptical. 

“Hey, Kevin?” Dan says, sounding distracted. Further away, a door slams shut as Thea makes it to the bathroom. 

“What?” Kevin says as he reemerges with his bag, rummaging through the contents in search of the painkillers.

“Remind us when Thea is due?”

“Not until another three weeks.” Kevin finds the painkillers and looks at Dan. “Well, two and a half, to be precise. Why do you ask?”

Further away, a door bangs against the wall. 

All of them swivel their heads towards the sound. 

“Kevin,” Thea says, her tight voice floating down the hallway. “My water just broke.”

Everything goes silent for a beat. Then: “Fuck,” Kevin says as he flies through the house to his wife. 

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Dan says. 

“How long do you think it’ll take them to get here, with the traffic and it being Christmas Eve?” Wymack asks, worry etched around the stern lines of his face. 

“I don’t know,” Dan says, tense. She dials 911 anyway, while Wymack calls Abby and Matt down. Kevin carefully guides Thea towards the couch as Abby sprints down the stairs and proceeds to fuss over Thea.

“I _told_ you we should have stayed at home -” Kevin is saying. 

“ _Kevin_ ,” Thea grounds out, grabbing a fistful of Kevin’s sweater. “I am about to go into labor. Save it for later.”

Kevin concedes and switches gears. “What should we do?” he demands, glaring at Aaron and Katelyn like they should be held accountable for the invention of uteruses. A derisive voice in Neil’s head says, _too bad neither of them are obstetricians_. 

Kevin screws his eyes shut, tapping his knuckles against his forehead. “Forget I asked. I have read about this before - ‘what you should do when your water breaks’. I’m just trying to remember what it said exactly -” 

Thea’s face is hard as stone, beads of perspiration forming on her forehead as she tries to regulate her breathing. 

“It’ll be okay,” Dan says, voice a little strained. “When my water broke, I had plenty of time before the contractions got bad.”

Katelyn nods. “It’s after her 37th week, so there’s no need to worry about preterm membrane ruptures.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better!” Kevin says, nearly hysterical.

“Has somebody called an ambulance?” Abby asks. “They can get here faster than we can drive to the hospital.”

Neil tips his head to the side, thinking. “How about it?” he asks without looking at Andrew. “Think you can beat the ambulance?”

Andrew stands, Rebecca secure in his arm. “Let’s find out.”

*

They beat the ambulance by fifteen minutes.

Thea battles through five hours of labor, and Kevin spends most of that time pacing the hospital floors, biting his nails, and holding her hand. He had looked queasy on the way to the hospital, but that might have been because of Andrew’s driving. His tolerance for reckless driving seems to have diminished significantly post-graduation. 

The rest of them wait outside. Allison and Renee arrive half an hour after they all got to the hospital, gracing them with cakes and alcohol. Betsy appears right after that, bearing some casserole. They sit in the cafeteria as they eat forkfuls of cake and casserole and refrain from opening any bottles of wine. 

When the baby is born, Wymack and Abby are the first to go see her. Thea’s parents have been notified and will be flying in tomorrow morning. The rest of them continue to pass around the cakes, merry and full of spirit despite having spent Christmas Eve at the hospital. Neil wonders what the baby will be named. He also wonders if she will grumble about being born on Christmas Eve, when she grows up.

Nicky and Erik arrive not long after that, having come straight from the airport. It’s been a while since any of them saw the couple, since they couldn’t make it to last year’s gathering.

“I can’t believe I missed all the fun!” Nicky complains. 

“You mean the fun of childbirth?” Matt asks, eyebrows raised. 

Neil suppresses a smile as he watches them all. Damian is playing with Madeline’s toy dog, sitting contentedly in Betsy’s lap. Madeline is in Renee’s arms, fascinated by the colors of the rainbow at the tip of Renee’s hair. Rebecca is fast asleep, a blanket wound around her frame, her face tucked into her father’s shoulder. 

Andrew threads his fingers through Neil’s. He brings their joined hands to rest over his thigh, his face stoic as his thumb strokes over Neil’s skin. 

Neil doesn’t bother suppressing his smile this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](http://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com).
> 
> Happy holidays/merry Christmas, y'all! Stay safe.


End file.
